Chapter Twenty-Three WILLOW

I’m lying through my teeth. We are most definitely compatible. Rhett looks at me and I’m tempted to throw myself at him. He touches me and I swear electricity sparks between us. He seems into me, which is shocking, but then again, it’s not. He was waiting for me outside of English class this morning. Adorable in his rumpled uniform and his golden-brown hair sticking up wildly, like he’d run his fingers through it over and over again. I wanted to run to him. Hug him close and tell him I missed him over the weekend, but I did none of that.

Westscott’s words ran through my brain on repeat, filling me with guilt. And shame. I can’t be a distraction to Rhett. Football is important to him. To his family. I did some googling earlier—I can’t believe I didn’t do it before. I saw all the news articles about his family and how they’re a football legacy. I also saw photos of his father when he was younger, and wow.

Rhett is the spitting image of Eli Bennett.

His mother is beautiful. His sister is too. His grandmother is Fable Callahan. Even I know who Fable Callahan is and it’s funny to me that I didn’t put it together that Rhett’s younger brother’s name is Callahan, but then again, I’m not an NFL fan. Fable is married to her husband Drew, who is one of the best quarterbacks to ever play football. Meaning, Rhett comes from a very famous family. An important family in both college football and the NFL. No wonder Westscott is so protective of Rhett.

I’m not about to become the downfall of Rhett Bennett and his football future. No thank you.

Not that I believe I have that kind of power, because I am just a girl who can’t seem to get anyone to pay attention to me here anyway—with the exception of Rhett. I wonder if Westscott said something to the other boys about how they needed to stay focused and not get distracted by girls. Did he talk to Rhett? Would he do that?

Doubtful. It’s never a man’s fault if a woman is involved. In this scenario, I’m the siren who is temptation personified. This is a tale as old as time—straight out of the Bible even. Rhett is Adam and I’m Eve, holding the apple toward him and egging him on to take a bite.

Okay, my thoughts are completely overdramatic, but I can’t help it. I’ve been dwelling on my conversation with Westscott all day.

And on that note, why wouldn’t Westscott say something to the teachers so we could avoid situations like the very one we’re in currently? I’m supposed to leave Rhett alone, yet I’m paired up with him for the next two weeks? Who assigns a two-week project anyway?

“You don’t think we’re compatible, huh?” Rhett is smiling, and I can tell he’s about to call me out on my lies. Ugh, that smile. Its power is devastating and I lock my knees so my legs don’t wobble.

“We’re not.” My voice is firm. I guess I can be a good liar when necessary. “You said so yourself that you don’t do relationships.”

“When did I ever say that?”

My mind scrambles—I remember Iris saying something like that, but I don’t know if those words ever came out of Rhett’s mouth.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “I am a relationship girl through and through.”

“Oh yeah?” He squints at me, as if he’s having trouble understanding. “How many relationships have you been in?”

“Um …”

None. Zero. Nada.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice is smug.

“Well, how many have you been in?” I throw at him.

“Not a single one,” he says without hesitation. “We’ve already had this conversation. We’re just talking in circles.”

He’s right. I know he is.

“I’m willing to change things up though,” he adds.

“Change things up about what?”

“A relationship doesn’t sound so bad … with you.”

Oh God. Did he really just say that?

“I thought we had something going on the last week, but now you’re giving me mixed signals, Will. And I don’t get it. What happened?” He sounds genuinely confused and I feel terrible.

The urge to tell him what Westscott said rests on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the words down. Would he even believe me? Or worse, would he run off to Westscott’s office and confront him over it? That would be awful. I’m not about to stir up any trouble because then I would just be proving Westscott’s point.

I’m a distraction.

And I refuse to tell my parents about any of this because the headmaster is right—there are more important things to worry about right now in regards to Lancaster Prep than whether I have a crush on the varsity team’s top football player. What I want shouldn’t matter. Besides, it’s our senior year. We’re going to graduate and go our separate ways.

From the start, I’ve told myself I want a high school romance to enjoy during my senior year. A guaranteed date for all of the important events—dances, prom. That’s what I was looking for, and yes, it probably would’ve been fun to do all of that with Rhett, but this is turning into too much trouble.

Trouble I don’t want.

“Like I said, I had a realization. We would never work,” I reiterate.

“You so sure about that?” Oh, there’s that dare in his voice again. The sly smile on his face. It’s like no matter what I say, it doesn’t deter him. I didn’t think he’d be so determined.

“We should focus on our assignment,” I say, changing the subject. “Let’s find something to take a photo of.”

He goes along with my conversation change and we both start walking. “How about one of those creepy statues in the rose garden behind the library?”

I almost want to laugh at him calling the statues creepy. “Most of those statues are of my ancestors.”

“No shit?” He seems surprised. “I never really paid much attention to them.”

“There are nameplates on almost every single one of the statues.” And I’ve examined every single one of them over the years because I’m related to those people. It’s odd, to look at statues and know you come from a long line of Lancasters. That our family name has carried on for generations—centuries. There’s so much history there. There are even books written about my family—especially Augustus Lancaster, the first one to make a name in the US.

“And you’re related to them all, huh?” We approach the library, taking the sidewalk that veers to the right and leads to the gardens.

“They’re all Lancasters and I am too,” I say with a nod.

“What’s that like, being part of a family that goes back so far?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“It doesn’t feel like anything really. Our lineage is just part of my life.”

“You make yourself sound like a well-bred dog.” He nudges my side with his elbow, and I take a step to the right, vaguely offended. “A cute dog. Like a golden doodle.”

I roll my eyes, but I see what he’s saying. “It’s the word lineage.”

“Exactly.”

“You come from a legacy family yourself,” I remind him.

His brows shoot up in question. “Someone did their research.”

“I’ve heard your family history mentioned before.” I shrug, trying to play it off.

“Uh huh. I’m guessing if I checked out your search history, I’d find my name typed in. It’s cool,” he says when he notices I’m about to argue with him. “I googled you too.”

“You did?”

“I was curious.” He shrugs.

We’re quiet as we enter the rose garden and I take a deep breath, the scent of the roses lingering in the air. I stop at the row of bushes covered in peach-colored flowers, scanning the plaque that sits in front of them.

“Dedicated to Rose Albright. Forever in our hearts.” Rhett glances over at me. “You related to Rose?”

I shake my head. “Not really, but kind of? My father’s cousin Arch married Rose’s daughter Daisy. Rose died when Daisy was twelve.”

“Sad.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring at the flowers for a moment. “I can’t imagine life without my mom.”

“I can’t either,” I murmur, banishing the horrid thought. “Come on. Let’s go find a creepy statue.”

We venture deeper into the garden, the sun beating down upon us, the soft buzz of bees filling the air. I come to a stop in front of one of the oldest statues in the garden, tilting my head back to look at it. It’s of Ezekiel Lancaster, Augustus’s brother. His expression is stern, his nose prominent and his lips thin. He looks terribly unhappy. I would probably never admit this out loud, but this statue?

It creeps me out a little—well, more than anything, I feel sorry for him.

“Who’s this dude?” Rhett asks as he comes to a stop beside me.

“Ezekiel Lancaster is the younger brother of Augustus.”

“And Augustus was the one who started all of this, right?”

I nod. “Ezekiel was younger by only a year. Supposedly they were always close, though Ezekiel was also envious of his brother’s success. Everything came naturally to Augustus, while Ezekiel worked extra hard and was rarely awarded for his efforts.”

“Typical brother against brother shit is what you’re telling me.”

I turn to look at him. “Are you close with your brother?”

“Cal and I? We get along. Sometimes I think he gets tired of being compared to me, and I don’t blame him. That’s why he’s not a quarterback. He’s trying to stand out on his own. He’s really good.”

I can tell by the tone of Rhett’s voice that he likes his brother, and that makes me like him even more, though I shouldn’t.

I’m supposed to stay far away from him.

“I know nothing about football, remember?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I said I’d teach you.”

“Which isn’t necessary,” I’m quick to add, but he ignores me.

“You ever watch a game before?”

“No.” I thought I told him that already.

“Your dad not into football?”

“He would watch it when I was younger and I was at home all the time, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Who’s his favorite team?”

“I’m not sure.”

“College or professional?”

“There’s a difference?” I’m teasing him, and after a second of letting my words sink in, he smiles, realizing it.

“You think you’re pretty funny, huh, Will?”

“Not particularly.” I shrug.

We go quiet again, but it’s not uncomfortable. He’s standing close enough to me that I can feel the warmth from his body radiating toward me, and when he shifts, his arm brushes against mine. When there’s no one else around and we’re just focused on each other, I can almost believe we could have something special.

“You are, you know,” he finally says.

“I’m what?”

“Funny. Interesting. You’re not boring.”

He probably remembers when I told him I was boring, and how mortifying is that?

“And I don’t know what happened to change your mind from last night to this morning, but something did, and if you’re feeling brave enough to tell me about it, maybe I could fix it.” He turns to face me, but I remain in the same position, staring up at poor, old, unappreciated Ezekiel.

I can relate to him. Even though I’m the oldest, there are so many Lancasters that are part of my generation, and I feel outshined by every one of them. Or maybe I’m just having a complete pity party and feeling sorry for myself.

“Nothing happened,” I murmur. “I just had a realization, which I already told you.”

I can feel him staring at my profile and I finally give in, facing him head on, standing up straighter like perfect posture is the proper defense against the powers that make up Rhett Bennett.

“I call bullshit on your realization, Willow, but okay. Whatever. You really believe we’re not compatible?”

My nod is as stiff as my posture.

He blows out a harsh breath, resting his hands on his hips. As usual, he’s discarded his uniform jacket and I can’t help but note the way his shirt sleeves strain against the muscles in his arms. I wonder what he looks like shirtless.

I wonder what he looks like naked.

“Guess it won’t matter to you then if I find some other girl to spend my time with.”

His words are like a slap in the face.

“And it won’t bother you at all if some other girl that’s in our class is wearing my jersey on game day,” he continues.

“Is that a thing?” My question is a whisper, floating away with the breeze.

“It’s definitely a thing,” he bites out, his gaze boring into me. “As a matter of fact, I might ask Iris if she’d like to wear my jersey on Friday. Think she would?”

It would absolutely kill me if he asked my cousin that. She’d tell him no, I have no doubt about it, but knowing he’d ask … imagining her wearing his jersey at the football game and looking cute while cheering him on?

No. I can’t stand the thought of any girl doing that.

But I can’t do it for him either. How obvious would I be, showing up to the game in his jersey—not that he’s said he wants me to wear it, but I’m guessing he’s implying that—yelling my encouragement from the stands. Westscott able to witness me doing exactly what he told me not to do.

There’s just no way.

“We should take our photos,” I tell him, changing the subject yet again. I grab my phone and aim it at Ezekiel’s statue, snapping a halfhearted photo. I didn’t even check if it was in focus so I take a few more, hoping one of them is decent.

Rhett does the same, not uttering a word, and I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s angry. With me. I suppose I deserve his anger. All I have to do is open my mouth and tell him the truth but …

I don’t want to cause any trouble. So I’m just going to hold on to it and keep my secret.

Even if it kills me.